A Mother's Love
by Allyswrites
Summary: "If I die, it will not be for an insignificant reason." Narcissa Malfoy, Alice Longbottom, Molly Weasley, and Lily Potter on their children. [complete]
1. Narcissa Malfoy

**Author's note:** Here is a short piece produced by my insomniac brain - and for this reason, you'll have to forgive any mistakes. I intend to add to this theme, probably two more vignettes of comparable length, from the perspectives of Lily Potter and Molly Weasley. (Those are the only ideas I have at the moment, but if there is something in this vein that you would like me to write, feel free to suggest it.) I hope you enjoy this. Please review!

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Narcissa Malfoy**

I should have handed him over to the Dark Lord, the man to whom my first loyalty supposedly belongs. Perhaps it would have helped with the redemption for which Lucius has been trying. Had it been he whom the Dark Lord sent to confirm the Potter boy's demise, I do not know what he would have done; although my husband and I value the same principles, we are not always driven by the same instincts. I suspect that he would have felt Potter's beating heart and would not have hesitated to serve it to the Dark Lord on a silver platter.

How miraculous for a child to be victim to the Killing Curse and live to tell the tale, not once, but twice. I saw an opportunity when I placed my cold hand on his warm chest: I had been deliberately kept away from the battle, and here was my connection to the centre of the action. If I let him live, I could see a way out for all of us; and if I did not ask the question burning at the forefront of my mind, I would never forgive myself.

The answer gave me hope, and it was this hope to which I clung as I proclaimed the boy wonder dead. My hope was strengthened when the Dark Lord cast _Crucio_ and got no reaction from Potter. This meant that he had defied the Dark Lord yet again, for I know from experience that one cannot remain impassive under the effects of the Cruciatus.

I was aware as I spoke the words that to lie to my master was to betray him, especially when it came to such a matter as important as this. The truth, though, is that I hardly cared. Potter was blessed with some innate gift of escapology; if he played it right, if _I_ played it right, then he could work another miracle, and I could satisfy my burning desperation. The prospect of the Dark Lord's anger, should he prevail and learn of my duplicity, did not deter me in the slightest.

If I die, it will not be for an insignificant reason.

That is what I thought of as I stood up and lied to the Dark Lord's face, and as Lucius and I ran from the rekindled fight; that is what I am still thinking of as we push through the throng of battle-weary witches and wizards, dodging curses and not casting any of our own.

I need to find my son.


	2. Alice Longbottom

**Author's note:** Halfway through writing the piece on Molly Weasley, this idea popped into my head and took over. So I wrote it instead. To be honest, it was more heartbreaking than I might have anticipated. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

Guest: Thank you!

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Alice Longbottom**

A boy is here to see me. He's got a round face and fair hair. He looks familiar, but I can't recall if I've seen him before. They told me who he is, but I don't remember that either. I get the feeling that we're related in some way, although I can't figure out how. I think he said his name is Neville.

"Hi, Mum," the Neville boy says, and I smile at him.

He sits down in a chair across from the bed, where I'm sitting with my knees hugged to my chest. I like my bed. It's springy. The boy begins to prattle away, a bit awkwardly. He talks about being on a train and a toad that keeps running away from him. When he says that he was sorted into Gryffindor, I give him a quizzical look. I'm not familiar with that word.

"Gryffindor House," he repeats, "like you and Dad. Professor McGonagall is still the Head. Gran says that she was your Head of House."

I still don't understand, but he changes the subject. He looks upset. I don't know why.

The boy tells me he had an item that glows red when you've forgotten something. I could use one of those. He proceeds to tell me a story involving this red-glowing thing and a couple of other boys, but the story is too complicated for me to follow. Too many moving parts. Makes me dizzy.

A woman eventually appears in the door and calls to the cherub-faced boy, whose name I forget. He stands to leave. Before he can go, I open the drawer of my bedside table and pull out an orange bubble gum wrapper, which I press into his hand. I like to collect them. They come in different colours and form a rainbow when I line them up. I like to press them against the window and watch the light shine through. Maybe the boy can paper his room with them.

He looks at the wrapper. "Thanks," he says, with a weak smile. I smile back.

"Neville, come on," says the woman at the door, impatiently this time.

Right. That's his name. Neville. I try saying it. No sound comes out, so I'm just mouthing the word. It feels like a foreign object on my tongue.

The boy glances back at me as he hurries away. I like him. I hope that he will come again.


	3. Molly Weasley

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Molly Weasley**

If I could protect all the world's children, I would. Over the course of the Second Wizarding War, though, I've learned that sometimes I can't even protect my own.

I know that the high and mighty gossip about us, Arthur and I, making snide remarks about our lack of wealth and Arthur's interest in muggle gadgets and how many kids we have; our family seems pitiable to them. But that impression couldn't be farther from the truth. We don't pity ourselves. We get by, we have enough, we have each other, cliché though that may sound.

Tonight, for the briefest period of time, I had my children together again, when Percy came back to us. Considering that the reason we had gathered was to prepare for battle, it sounds crazy to say, but I was so happy. Despite what others may think, I do not consider my children to be interchangeable.

That moment seems like forever ago now.

I can't believe we lost Fred. It still doesn't seem real; there hasn't been much time to dwell on it.

The twins… they were always a handful. I'm willing to bet that I've sent more Howlers than any other mother on the planet, and most of those went to Fred and George. I wouldn't have exchanged them for anything, though. They're good kids: They believe in what's right and they fight for it—and Fred died for it. Died fighting and died laughing, the way he would have wanted to go. Knowing that doesn't make it any easier to accept.

But none of my other children are going to die tonight, not if I can help it.

Bellatrix Lestrange doesn't stand a chance.


	4. Lily Potter

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. It's the final one for now, although I might get more ideas in the future and add to it. Please review!

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Lily Potter**

The thing about war is that it doesn't always feel real; everything happens so fast that sometimes it's hard to take in. There's death everywhere, and you feel powerless to stop it. People turn on each other, sometimes in true betrayal and sometimes because they've been coerced. I imagine that it's like living in Azkaban, being surrounded by Dementors all the time. You think that you'll never feel safe again, never be happy, never be _free._

He Who Must Not Be Named seems to have an endless supply of Death Eaters. They're like the hydra in Greek mythology, the nine-headed serpent who grows two new heads for every head that gets cut off: For every Death Eater that we incapacitate, incarcerate, or kill, two more appear. Why anybody follows him, how anybody could _admire_ him, I don't understand. I didn't understand it as a young teenager, and I don't understand it now.

I'm fortunate. Most of my friends are still alive. Not all of them, but most of them. Some people I know have had every one of their friends and family ripped away from them, and I'm not in that position. Don't get me wrong, I'm not so naïve as to believe that just because it hasn't happened, doesn't mean that it won't, but I've learned the value in taking and savouring each moment as it comes.

A war is no place for a child. It's no time to have a baby. I don't want my beautiful son to grow up in a place of ruin, I don't want him to grow up tainted and haunted by violence.

He's so innocent. My favourite thing to do is just cradle him in my arms and watch him as he sleeps. At two months old, he's far too young to understand what's happening, why I look so worried all the time. I think there's something to the saying "ignorance is bliss."

I love my son very much. Until he was born, I didn't know it was even possible for a person to hold this much love inside them. I love James, of course, and I love our friends, and I love my parents, but this is different. It's like my entire universe has shifted; or maybe it's that the tiny little being in my arms has _become_ my entire universe.

I don't know how this war will unfold. Only time will tell. But I know this: I will do anything to protect my son. If it came to it, I would kill for him, and I would die for him.

I just want him to be safe.


End file.
